


Porcelain to Ivory to Steel

by Ims0s0rry



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior Bashing, Captain Hook | Killian Jones Bashing, Caretaking, F/F, I'm Going to Hell, Mistaken Identity, Pirates, Sharing a Bed, and stumbling across this piece of gay trash instead, lol can you imagine the people looking for biblical fanfiction, sex and murder, the holy trinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-18 06:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9371804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ims0s0rry/pseuds/Ims0s0rry
Summary: Emma leads a life of luxury at the Red Keep as the king's only child and bastard, but she has to flee Westeros when her father dies suddenly. Instead of waiting out the war in the Free Cities like she thought she would, she's sold into slavery. Luckily, a passing pirate mistakes her for the Merling Queen, a goddess, and kickstarts her plan for vengeance.A hot mess of Game of Thrones, some Pirates of the Caribbean references, and Swan Queen in the middle of a struggle for the Iron Throne. Featuring the Blue Fairy getting her head bashed in, Hook getting eaten by a kraken, and Regina in nothing but a poofy ruffled shirt.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Be forewarned, I don't know a lot about this world. Everything I know comes from the first book, the ASOIAF wiki, and spoilers on tumblr. If I get anything wrong, please let me know and I'll fix it.

Everything changes in an instant.

Emma is sitting in the stands with her mother, watching her father joust an unknown, unnamed knight. Her father blows a kiss to the both of them, grinning widely, before lowering the visor of his helmet. The signal is given, the horses charge, Emma's laughing at some silly comment her mother's made, time slows to a crawl between her pounding heartbeats.

There's a resounding crash. Her father falls, a splinter of the knight's lance sticking out of his helmet. The crowd is roaring in panic and confusion, jostling each other to get a better look. She turns to her mother for reassurance, but her face has gone white. The court maester is even grimmer than usual while he inspects her father, and motions for members of the Kingsguard to carry him inside. At some point in the ensuing frenzy, the mysterious challenger has disappeared.

"Is Father going to be okay?" Obviously, having a piece of wood sticking out of one’s face is pretty dire, but the events haven't quite caught up with Emma's brain yet.

"Emma, you need to go with Grumpy and go pack whatever you can carry. Do you understand?"

"Mother? What—"

"I'll explain later. Do it now."

Her mother catches Grumpy's eye and nods, her face still so pale. He hurries over and nudges Emma out of her seat. "Come on then."

"What's going on?" she asks as they head toward her chambers. He and her mother obviously have some sort of long standing agreement she isn’t privy to.

"Not here," he says gruffly. "Don't know who's listening."

Despite his penchant for speaking in fragments, Grumpy is one of her mother's most trusted knights in the Kingsguard. He's bound to know what's going on.

"But my father will recover, right?"

"I don't know."

She stands in front of her wardrobe and puts her hands on her hips. "What exactly am I supposed to pack if I don't even know what I'm preparing for?"

"Bring lots of pants," Grumpy grunts as he passes her two saddlebags.

She rolls her eyes but does heed his advice.

Once she's done, he hustles her to her mother's rooms.

"Why aren't you at Father's bedside?" she demands as soon as Grumpy locks the door.

Her mother looks terrible. Her complexion is still chalky and it's evident she's been sobbing. "Abigail's forbidden me to see him."

Emma frowns. The queen has never been taken with her or her mother, but she would've thought she'd make an exception with her father so grievously injured.

"Emma, listen to me. Your father will die. There are rumors that he's named you his heir on his deathbed, but seeing as it isn't confirmed in writing, I doubt the kingdom will accept your claim."

"My claim?"

"There's no time to argue. You are your father's only child. You have the right to the throne. But you must prepare to fight for it."

"But Mother, I don't want—"

"It's what your father wants. Won't you honor his dying wish?"

She has no rebuttal for that. "But how am I supposed to fight for it? Who am I going up against? What am I supposed to do?"

"The queen and her house, for one. Your uncle James undoubtedly. House Lycium has been getting restless as well. And who knows what House Sideris has been up to all this time. They might use this opportunity to make their move. But I've formed a contingency plan long ago. You need to stay safe. I've paid a mercenary to take you to Tyrosh to stay with Jiminy il Grillo, a family friend. You’ll answer to Emma Swan, not Emma Storm, just in case. In the meantime, I’ll covertly rally support among your father’s sympathisers and we’ll take on the pretenders to the throne. And when it’s over, I’ll send for you.”

"You won’t be coming with me?"

"No, sweetheart." Her eyes glisten as she tugs Emma close and presses a kiss to her forehead. "I'm afraid you'll have to do this on your own. It's hard enough smuggling only you out of Westeros. If I disappeared as well, we'd never make it. And I'd like to be with your father in his final days. Grumpy, take her down to the docks. You’ll find a man named Humbert there."

"The sellsword. You sure he's trustworthy?" Grumpy snorts.

"He's our only option. It’s too difficult to pass off one of our known allies leaving the city now without arousing suspicion."

“But Mother!”

“I’m sorry, Emma. I love you. Good luck.”

She finds herself shuffled onto a ship with a mere gelding and the saddlebags to her name as bells ring out throughout King's Landing. "The king is dead! Long live the queen!" The wails follow her as the ship leaves port.

At Tyrosh, Humbert promptly fastens a collar around her throat.

"What are you doing?"

"My orders were to take you safely to Tyrosh. And now that I have, I plan on turning you for profit again."

“What about Jiminy il Grillo?”

“He died years ago. It wasn’t my fault,” he hastens to add. “He was hit by a falling hammer in an accident. Something to do with a wooden puppet. I don’t know; the details are fuzzy. But I was responsible for forging letters advising your mother to send you here.”

"But why?" She stares at him beseechingly, but he avoids her gaze.

"The real world is not as trustworthy as your parents would have you believe."

He leads her to a stand in the marketplace, where a merchant dressed in bright royal blue looks her over, inspects her soft hands and full set of teeth and snorts in an unladylike fashion, turning to haggle with Humbert. They finally decide on a measly sum of two golden dragons. She thinks idly that she should be insulted, but she can't quite muster any feeling besides shock. Her horse is sold, her belongings taken, her long blond hair shorn short. She's put to work collecting sea snails the Tyroshi famously use for dye.

Unused to labor, it takes her long months to acclimate. The days are hot, but the nights are cool, and the slaves huddle together in the shed Reul Ghorm provides them as lodging to keep warm. Her complexion burns in the harsh maritime sun and her skin becomes rough and dry from the ever present salt. Her hair lightens and turns slightly green from something in the water. As the reality of her situation slowly begins to sink in, her stupor wears off to be replaced by a kernel of rage.

It blooms into an all-encompassing thirst for vengeance one day when she gets twenty lashes that rip open her back for forgetting to keep the captive snails submerged in seawater. They can’t be used for dye when they’ve dried out. She’d like to say that she took those lashes with dignity and poise like the royal she is, but the truth is she screamed as every single one fell.

Later, she curls up in a corner by herself. The others leave her alone, except for a girl who takes stock of the damage and hisses through her teeth, although she retreats when Emma snarls at her to go away. She’s not familiar with her. The girl works in the house, but even though she might not have to deal with stinging eyes or the lingering stink of ammonia and vinegar, she doesn’t envy her. Their mistress is not known to be kind to those she owns. The girl comes back though, bearing table salt she’s taken from the merchant’s house.

"Try not to move,” is all the warning she gets before the girl starts to rub salt in her cuts. Emma tries to stifle her sobs as she works but she’s not entirely successful. “I know it hurts. But it'll be better than letting them fester," the girl says apologetically.

"Why are you helping me?"

"Because that's what good people do."

Emma barks a laugh, hoarse with tears.

The girl gives her a tight-lipped little smile and starts to scoot away, but she reaches out and grazes her hand. "Wait, I didn't thank you. For treating me. What's your name?"

"Regina. And you are?"

"Emma Swan."

"Well, nice to meet you, Ms. Swan."

"Likewise. And thank you again."

"You're quite welcome."

What little hope she gains from the kindness evaporates though, when news reaches her that the queen has executed her mother on grounds of treason. Even across the sea, people know the charges are completely fabricated. The queen’s hatred for the king’s favorite mistress is famous throughout the known world. _I'm an orphan_ , she realizes belatedly. Within a mere year, she's gone from being the pampered daughter of the king to a slave on her own with no freedom in sight, let alone a chance of taking back the throne.

And then fate intervenes.

She's been diving for snails all day but hasn't yet filled her daily quota. There's a storm coming in fast but she can't go back yet or she's sure to get another whipping. The half-healed scabs on her back burn at the thought. So she grits her teeth and pushes her way through the choppy waves, scouring the coral beds when something catches her attention. It looks like a formless black blob at this distance, but occasionally lightning will highlight something that flashes. She swims closer to investigate, figuring that the snails are most likely waiting out the storm as well.

It's a man, unconscious and being dragged down by a heavy leather trench coat. His neck and fingers are adorned with silver. She grabs hold of his torso and kicks hard back to shore. It'll be easier to search his corpse and go through his coat pockets on land. Maybe he'll even have enough on him for her to buy her freedom.

By the time she makes it, dragging him up out of the surf, her lungs and legs are burning and the angry gray clouds are dumping sheets of pelting rain. She takes a moment to splay out on the pockmarked sand and catch her breath, eyeing him critically. What little remains of her conscience spurs her to make sure he's dead before she robs him. She gives him a few half-hearted slaps and unfortunately, that seems to revive him. He sputters and leans over to cough and vomit, seawater streaming out of his nose. Emma scowls, and is debating whether she should knock him out and take his valuables anyway, when he mumbles something that sounds like "merkle" and passes out.

She sighs in resignation. She may have hardened that past year but she can’t yet harm a man who’s done her no wrong, so she rolls him over on his side. Might as well make sure he doesn't choke on his puke while she finishes collecting snails. Storm or not, she’d like to get home sometime before night falls. The clouds are moving on by the time she notices him again. He's peeled his coat off and is watching her with interest as she stalks over to him.

"You've got seaweed in your hair" is the first thing he says to her.

She runs her hands through her cropped hair until she brushes it out, kicking it to the side. "You owe me a 'thank you for saving my life'."

He tries to stand but wobbles and sits back down, bowing his head instead. "Much obliged, love. Of course, how could a lady let a dashing rapscallion like myself drown?"

"It'd be easier than you think. I was intending to relieve you of all your jewelry actually. Didn't think you were still alive."

He grimaces. "Yes, well, it's the end result that matters. Captain Killian Jones, at your service.”

“Captain? You still have your ship?”

“Indeed. There she is, with the ivory sails. How the damn crew managed to dock her in this storm is beyond me.”

She mulls it over. Perhaps if she can hide her collar and stowaway on his ship, she might make it back to Westeros. She doesn’t know what she’d do after that though.

“And you would be?" His question pulls her out of her pondering.

"A slave. No one of consequence."

"I doubt that very much."

She stiffens. Does he recognize her as her father's daughter? Is he in the employ of one of the rival houses, here to kill her? She's just berating herself for rescuing this sorry excuse for a sailor, when he speaks again.

"Tell me, your Majesty, are the other mermaids as lovely as you are?"

"Pardon?"

"It's okay. I've grown up my whole life around seafaring folklore. The green-tinted hair, the sea storm eyes, I think I'd recognize the Merling Queen when I see her."

She breaks into a disbelieving chuckle. "You do realize I have legs, right?"

"Nice try." He winks. She rolls her eyes. "That iron collar obviously prevents you from returning to your kingdom. But I can set you free."

She raises an eyebrow. "Can you now."

"Indeed." He rifles through his coat pockets until he fishes out a small iron key. "Skeleton key. Never travel around the Free Cities without one."

And without preamble, he leans forward and unlocks her rusty collar, letting it fall away. She reaches up to scratch her neck properly for the first time in a year, grinning. "Would you let me borrow that for the night?"

"Only if I can come with you."

"You almost drowned today. Can you walk?"

"Anything for the Merling Queen."

"Right...well, let's go," she says as she throws the snails back into the water.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for murder. Emma ain't playing around, yo.

He's forced to lean on her heavily as they totter back into the city. He wrinkles his nose as they near Reul Ghorm's estate. She elbows him. "This is where I live. And wet leather doesn't smell so good either."

When they get to the palatial merchant's house, she holds out a hand to stop him from following her.

"What are you doing?" he whispers.

"This woman bought and beat and broke me. I intend to repay her."

"What if you need backup?"

Emma grins in a feral fashion. "One good thing about this profession: you get really good at bashing in calcified domes, whether they're shells or skulls. I don't need help with that. In the meantime, you head out back to the shed. Unlock the slaves' collars that you find there."

"And then?"

"Wait for my signal."

"Be safe."

She snorts. "I don't need your concern. My rage is more than enough."

She quietly lets herself through the back door and into the kitchen. Luckily, it's time for dinner and Reul Ghorm's slaves are scuttling about, making sure everything's perfect for their mistress. Emma eyes the collection of kitchen knives but heads into the dining room, where the merchant is seated, muttering to herself as she consults her ledger. Her hatred of this woman leaps into her throat, and for a wild moment, she contemplates leaping over the table to strangle her right there and then. But no, not quick enough. It’ll draw in the others. They might not like her very much, but Emma is worried about those with a misplaced sense of loyalty.

“Would you like some wine while you look over those sums, mistress?”

"Get me a bottle of the persimmon wine. I need to at least be tipsy to deal with these dismal sums. Sometime today!” she roars, slamming her palm on the table, startling Emma into a run.

Perfect for cracking skulls. She goes back into the kitchen and snags the sleeve of a serving boy to ask for directions to the wine cellar. He furrows his brow but doesn't ask her any questions. "The door to the left of the pantry."

The underground vault is large, but not so grand that she can't find the stock of wine with ease. She takes a moment to sigh. It's an excellent collection of liquor. She'll be sad when it all goes up in flames.

"Where have you been?" Reul Ghorm makes grabby hands at the bottle. "I asked for that ages ago."

Emma considers making a witty one liner before taking her out, but she can't think of anything off the top of her head. So she lets the adrenaline take over and slams the bottle down on the merchant's head in one swift, decisive motion. Like she told Jones, her days of crushing snail shells have honed her skills. The woman falls to the floor accompanied by an explosion of wine and the tinkle of glass. And just for good measure, Emma leans over her and slits her throat with the broken bottleneck with only a beat of hesitation. It’s rather anticlimactic, and her fury is still baying for blood, but the wisps of a plan begin to take shape in her mind.

There's a bell that she knows the woman used to call for servants that Emma grabs before heading to the backyard. Jones is there with the other snail-collecting slaves, who are watching her warily.

"Oi! Gathering out back," she shouts as she rings the bell. When everyone is assembled and accounted for, she chucks the bell into one of the boiling vats and crosses her arms. "Line up. My comrade here will unlock your collars. After that, you have one hour to take whatever you want from this hellhole before I raze it to the ground. You're free to go. We're free."

"What about Reul Ghorm?" someone asks.

"No longer a concern. I killed her." The words don't seem real. Maybe it'll hit her tomorrow.

There's some uneasy murmuring at this, but they disband quickly enough to take whatever isn't nailed down inside.

Jones comes to stand by her side. "No looting for you, your Majesty?"

"I just want this nightmare to be over."

He chuckles. "And here I thought you were kidding about murdering me and taking my things."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Thank you again, for sparing me."

She grins at him. "There's a way you can make it up to me."

"And what trouble would that be?"

"I need a navy to conquer King's Landing. They've...cheated me."

"Then may whatever gods they pray to have mercy on their souls for evoking your wrath. But I'm merely a humble pirate. To amass a formidable maritime force, I'll need to call on the Lords of the Stepstones."

"Good thing we're so close then."

Most of the former slaves decide to scatter as the house goes up in flames, but some elect to stay with her to get a free ride back to Westeros. They cluster together as Jones swaggers onto his ship to the cheers of his crew.

"Men! I have found the Merling Queen," he says, gesturing to Emma with a flourish. "Once we restock our stores, we set sail for the Stepstones. She has an audience with the Lords."

To his credit, he must be held in high esteem because the crew doesn't doubt him. Her fellow slaves, however, stare at her with disbelief and mistrust. They're herded below deck and assigned hammocks, except for Emma, who Killian has graciously given up his quarters for. Regina suddenly speaks up. "I need to stay with her."

"Why? The hammock's fine."

She throws her hair over a shoulder. "I'm her handmaiden. You can't expect the Merling Queen to do everything herself, do you?"

The sailor frowns but shrugs and shows them into their room, shutting the door after he leaves. The two regard each other for a long moment before Regina raises an eyebrow. "I've been sleeping in the midst of a goddess this entire time?"

Emma raises her head defiantly and stares her down. "You have."

Regina crows with laughter. "You may be able to fool loverboy up there, but you're a terrible liar."

"He's the one who came up with the idea anyway. I just ran with it."

"So what's the endgame?"

"What?"

"What are you trying to accomplish by stringing him along?"

"Okay, first of all, I may be lying about my identity, but I'm not insinuating anything about feelings. Secondly, I need his help to raise a navy to avenge my parents."

"Seems a bit extreme to me. I mean, you could hire a mercenary to dispose of whoever killed your parents, but hey, total annihilation by pirates sounds cool too."

"No, not a mercenary. The one who sold me into slavery was one." She doesn't mention that she doubts a lone warrior or even a company, if she could afford one, could exterminate entire houses.

Regina winces. "Yeah, okay, I can see how that would be a sore point."

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"You told me once that you were helping me 'because that's what good people do'. I doubt that includes conspiring with me to sack the capital."

"Well, no, but I'm on the run as well, and destruction in the name of a cause is as good a way as any to stay hidden for now."

"What are you running from?"

"You have your secrets, your Serenity, and I have mine."

...

Life at sea treats the former slaves well. They're no strangers to hard work, but being able to earn wages and eat regularly (even if it's mostly fish and stale bread) are novelty. Hook’s crew graciously doled out extra clothes after they burned the old ones due to the persistent stench of the dyeing process. There’s a lot of white ruffled shirts and leather pants for some reason.

Emma isn't slacking either. Part of it is to keep busy because Killian insists on having romantic candlelit "battle strategy-planning sessions" otherwise and part of it is because she'll never know when she'll need to commandeer a ship and it's best to be prepared in any case. When she has too much free time, she starts dwelling on the murder and her hands start to shake. Not because she’s appalled by her actions, but because she doesn’t feel guilty. Taking a life was easy and she doesn’t revel in it, but she’s ready to do it again should the occasion arise. The lack of distress is distressing.

In the time that it takes to sail to the Stepstones, the green tint fades from her hair as she no longer spends her days in the copper-infused seawater. Regina brings it up the night before they're to reach the hidden location of the Pirate Hall. They're laying side by side on the bed in the dark, waiting for sleep. Emma's sure she's asleep by her measured breathing, so she's startled when Regina says, "Do you think they'll believe your claim?"

"Maybe not. Killian pointed out my green hair and what he called 'sea storm' eyes, but it was pretty shaky to begin with. I don't think it'll hold up with the others."

"But you'll still go?"

"Don't have a choice. This is my only chance. I have to destroy the people who killed my parents or die trying. I won't spend the rest of my life begging on the streets."

Regina shifts on her side to face her. "And if you defeat them, if you succeed, will you take the Iron Throne?"

She hesitates, trying to parse what Regina's guessed.

"Emma, only bastards of noble origins have surnames like yours."

"Oh. Right, well, I don't know. There's a lot of fatal obstacles between me and the throne."

“Swan isn’t one of the usual names. How’d you end up with it?”

The first thing that comes to her mind is “because swans are symbols of beauty and fragility, but they’ll break your arms if you piss them off.”

Regina chuckles. “Your parents named you well. You’re certainly living up to your namesake, plotting murder and ruin.”

"It's strange that you know so much about me and I know barely anything about you."

She stiffens. "Because there's nothing to know. I grew up near the coast, my parents died, I was sold into slavery, just like you. Terribly boring."

"I don't think so. I've never known anything outside King's Landing besides this. Will you tell me about your childhood?"

"Maybe another time," she says softly. "Go to sleep, Emma."

In the morning, Killian announces that they've nearly reached their destination. "Forgive me, love, but you and your handmaiden will have to be blindfolded until we moor. Neither of you ladies are bound by your word to keep the location secret."

Emma nods. Regina rolls her eyes. "Trust me, no one wants to know where your stupid pirate clubhouse is, Hook."

He huffs as two of his men fasten scarves around their eyes, but doesn't reply. As they sit in the dark of the captain's quarters, an urge to apologize rises in Emma. She fumbles for Regina's hands. "Listen, if they don't buy it, if they realize I'm a fraud, I want to say I'm sorry I dragged all of you into this mess. I'll try to ensure you get safe passage back to Westeros. And thank you for helping me on this suicide mission."

Regina merely squeezes her hands. "We're not dead yet, Ms. Swan."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for blood sacrifice. Is that even a thing? Halp me, I don't know what I'm doing

The stupid pirate clubhouse is more impressive than Emma thought it would be. They drop anchor in a cavernous grotto alongside dozens of other ships. Set against the limestone is the colossal skeleton of a shipwreck, in which the Pirate Lords will convene. Killian bows and sweeps his arm in the direction of the gangplank. "After you, my lady."

Regina takes her cue to push past him and disembark, Emma trailing after her. The inside is no less grand. Not that she gets to see any of it. She has an impression of a large corridor with a cobwebbed chandelier above them before she's pushed into the main chamber. Every surface is covered in candles, but their flickering light does little to dispel the natural gloom that filters in from the fractured timbers of the upper deck. In the center is a long oblong table, around which several surly men and women sit. Members of their crew stand behind them.

Killian bows to the lords before straightening. "My esteemed lords and ladies, I bring before you the Merling Queen, who rescued me after I was thrown off the Jolly Roger during a storm coming into Tyrosh. She has a proposition for you, if you’ll hear her out." He nudges her forward and slips away to stand behind one of the pirate lords.

She clears her throat. "My name is Emma Swan. With your favor, I'd like to attack King's Landing."

Regina flinches. Emma's diplomacy needs some work, which is evident when the room erupts into protest.

One man bangs his fist on the polished surface of the table, silencing everyone. "Who do you think you are, challenging the Queen of the Seven Realms?"

She raises herself to her full height and looks down at them all. With any luck, she's gotten better at lying in the past few days. "I am the Merling Queen. Your Queen Abigail has wronged my family by killing my mother and quite possibly my father. I seek swift and terrible retribution. The sea does not forgive. The sea does not forget."

The council is silent. She realizes that there are empty seats. It must've not been possible to assemble all the pirate lords on such short notice, and maybe not on a trivial matter such as this.

"Prove it," a woman wheezes.

Emma frowns. "I can assure you I wouldn't hold the title unless both my parents were dead."

"Not your parents being dead. You have the air of an orphan about you. No, prove you're the Merling Queen."

Her mind races. What is the Merling Queen capable of anyway? Is this when they find out she's been lying through her teeth and toss her off a cliff to be dashed against the surf-sharpened rocks below? But before her panic can get a proper hold of her, Regina addresses the room. "She can summon a kraken."

There's a collective gasp that Emma may have contributed to, followed by fervent whispers.

"A kraken is not a pet that I can call upon to suit my whims," she manages to sputter. "Besides, the closest one could be hundreds of leagues away from here."

"But it's capable of moving swiftly when the need arises, such as when its queen calls upon it. We'll grant you 24 hours to do so. If you are the Merling Queen, we'll discuss further arrangements. And if you can't and prove to be an imposter, well..." The Pirate Lord's hand drifts toward his cutlass. "Best not be an imposter."

Emma bows her head. "As you wish."

She and Regina are dismissed as the council continues to argue over her claim. Emma reaches out and grips Regina's hand hard until they're safely inside the captain's quarters. She promptly flings herself facedown on the bed. "We're dead, we're dead. We survived, but we're dead."

Regina slaps her arm. "Stop being so dramatic. Believe it or not, I had a plan in mind when I suggested summoning a kraken."

She peeks up from the bedspread. "You did?"

Regina purses her lips. "Not all of us speak without thinking. I'll give you one tidbit from my mysterious past: my mother was a witch. And before she passed, I managed to skim through some of her books. One passage in particular detailed a ritual to summon a kraken."

"Will it eat us if we do?"

"Quite possibly."

"That's not heartening."

"But it's worth a shot. Unless you'd rather have the pirates realize you're faking...?"

"No no, maybe getting eaten by a giant sea monster sounds better."

"That's what I thought."

...

"On second thought, maybe I'd rather be run through." Emma laughs nervously as she paddles them out into the deep sea in the rickety skiff.

"Really." Regina isn't really listening as she readies the ingredients for the spell.

"Okay, no, but I didn't realize there'd be this much blood involved. My blood."

"Think of it as a small price to pay for your revenge."

She swallows, watching the water apprehensively.

"Ready?" Regina holds a chalice in one hand and a dagger in the other.

"Not even remotely, but let's get this over with."

She hisses as Regina slices open the skin of her inner elbow and fills the cup halfway before pouring it over the side of the rowboat.

"Still with me, Ms. Swan?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Press this to the cut. Don't pass out." She hands her a clean white bandage that Emma winds around her elbow. "Whale blubber, splinters of enchanted wood, a doubloon, a pinch of cobalt, and a spark." The concoction bursts into flame. She loops a length of fishing wire around the top of the stem and lowers it into the water.

Emma expects the silver-white flames to die out in contact with the seawater, but if anything, they only flare brighter. "Now we wait?"

Regina nods.

It's mere hours later when there's a gentle tug on the line. Emma stops prodding at her scab and sits very still as a lone tentacle rises up to meet them. She glances at Regina, who's gone pale, but only gets another nod in confirmation. The tentacle quivers, as if scenting the air, and nudges at the cut on her arm before brushing against her cheek. To her surprise, it's not slimy. It feels smooth and wet, rather like slippery skin.

"Seal the pact with a pound of flesh." Regina's voice is strangled.

Emma grits her teeth and guides the tentacle down to her right foot. It curls a bit, an oddly human "are you sure" feel to it. She taps it once in confirmation. Regina embraces her, half for comfort and half holding her down so the boat doesn’t capsize. There's a moment of hesitation and then the tentacle coils around half of her foot and gives an abrupt tug.

She curses and howls as the hooks on its suckers dig into her flesh, cutting through tendons and sinew and finally bone. Regina's still got a good hold on her though, murmuring soothing nonsense as she flails and claws at her. And then, it's over. The tentacle withdraws for a moment. Emma heaves and squints through her tears to look at what's left of her foot. It feels like she's stuck it straight into a hearth but it looks relatively normal for a freshly severed limb. There's not even any blood, just a grayish cast to the knobbly new end of her foot.

"Are you okay?" Regina asks, but it's more of a kneejerk reaction than anything.

"No." She half-laughs, half-sobs. "I feel like I'm gonna die."

Regina strokes her hair. "Not today, dear."

Emma gradually realizes there's something hovering at the edge of her consciousness, like a spider's silk thread, so fine and delicate it's hardly there. When she focuses on it, there's a general impression of curiosity and sympathy for her pain. The kraken? The tentacle makes another appearance and waves shyly.

"It worked?" Regina sounds incredulous.

"You're the witch's daughter. You tell me."

The kraken questions why she has called for her (it's a her) if she isn’t a magician or the goddess she claims to be. There aren't words exactly, more vague feelings and intentions that Emma has to string together to comprehend. It's certainly the oddest thing she's had to do to date. But she tugs on the strand and mentally explains that she's willing to trade tasty human bodies and the shiny trinkets they carry in return for help in carrying out this farce. The kraken — her name is something like the abysmal depths of the cold, dark sea but Emma has trouble pronouncing it, even within her mind — doesn't care about the petty squabbles of the noble houses but she has deemed Emma's pound of flesh acceptable and is willing to follow her lead. She then drops the conversation as the scent of Emma's blood has attracted sharks and half a human foot is hardly enough to sustain a several thousand pound predator.

"So," Regina says, as Emma comes out of her trance. "What's the verdict?"

"She's cool with eating the people I ask of her."

She grins as the water begins to churn. "That's one hurdle down."

At noon the next day, the council reconvenes. "What do you have to say for yourself, Emma Swan?" one of the pirate ladies growls.

"Nothing. I think this is best shown." She leads them out to the bay. It's not quite as majestic as she imagined, hobbling on the heel of her bad foot. The scab has already hardened but she doesn't want to risk breaking it and causing an infection. In the distance, there's an enemy galley chasing down the Jolly Roger. "I've persuaded Captain Jones and his crew to lure out one of the royal armada."

She plucks at her connection to the kraken and gives her the signal. At once, massive arms emerge from the water and encircle the ship in a crushing embrace. The cries of the men and the cracking of the hull can be heard even from this distance. Only a few men manage to draw their swords before they're thrown overboard or pierced by those deadly hooked suckers. The masts crumble under the pressure, the stern splinters inward, the entire structure lists to its side as the kraken punches a hole through the keel. Within fifteen minutes, the ship lies in ruins and the arms lazily drag the surviving sailors down into the depths.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, any questions?"

There's nothing but stunned silence.

"Excellent. Now, about mustering a fleet to sail for King's Landing..."

After the demonstration, the Pirate Lords are exceptionally more cooperative. She gains the support of four of the six residing members. Most of the pirates are freeborn or Westerosi defectors and have no great love for the crown, but one of them is a noble son of the Ironborn. The two lords that backed out protest. "You're violating your oath to the queen for this scrawny runt?"

"She has proven herself to be the Merling Queen, my brothers. Goddesses surpass queens every time."

"A wise choice, my lord. I will remember your faith in me, or lack thereof," she says, glaring at the two lords, "and pay you in kind when we capture the Red Keep."

Despite the support of the pirates, the Royal Fleet still outnumbers them three-to-one. The only advantage they have is surprise. "Prepare for six weeks of travel if the winds aren't favorable, but no more than that. We need to sail as quickly and quietly as possible. Once we breach the city, you take what you want. But leave the queen for me."

When they're alone, Regina touches her arm. "Are you sure letting them raid and plunder arbitrarily is the wisest choice? This might be your kingdom. You don't want to turn the people against you."

She sighs and runs a hand over her face. "It's the only thing I have to offer in return for their service. And better to risk the odds now instead of betting on a future that might not come to pass."

"Okay."

"You're judging me, aren't you?"

"I'm not in a position to judge your actions. But it's not...what good people do."

"I've fallen a long way, Regina. I can't discern right from wrong anymore. The last thing my father asked of me was to avenge him. It's all I have left of him. This is the only way forward I see."

"Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, have you seen the hooks on a giant squid's arms? THEY'RE TERRIFYING


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure you brush your teeth, kids. All this fluffy Swan Queen flirting's gonna give you cavities.

Before they leave the Pirate Hall, Emma receives news that her uncle's died by poison. She can't bring herself to feel very sad. She doesn't really feel much of anything, except maybe a smidgen of relief. James was an arrogant ass that took her father's wresting of the throne as a personal affront since David was younger, even though he didn't do anything but keep the family estate free of trespassers during the war. He always drunk and liked to empty the house coffers to buy trinkets to boost his own sense of self-importance. Her only memories of him are of him vehemently denying that he had a drinking problem and then proceeding to break other people's belongings in his protest to prove that he didn't have an issue. At least this way she doesn't have to be the one to kill him.

Out on the open sea, she calls the kraken to her and runs her fingers across the small nicks that the dead sailors inflicted on her. The kraken brushes her concern off and explains that she can secrete a grayish mucus that seals wounds and speeds up the healing process, like with her foot. She asks hopefully about the crew of the Jolly Roger but Emma tells her that they are friends, not food. The arms retreat sullenly into the water after that.

In a few days, they reach the southernmost tip of Westeros. While the rest of the ships lurk offshore, out of sight, the Jolly Roger docks inconspicuously to let the former slaves go. They scramble for the mainland, eager to put as much distance between themselves and this upcoming conflict as possible. Emma doesn't blame them. Just because she helped them escape Reul Ghorm doesn't mean they're obligated to lay down their lives for her. And just as quietly as they came, Killian gives the command to raise the anchor and return to sea.

Luckily, there's a warm ocean current that'll take them most of the way to the Crownlands. But even then, it'll take a solid month of sailing. Within the first week, Emma's bored out of her mind. And there's only so many ways she can let Killian down gently.

"Look, Swan, I'm not saying that I'm the most beautiful example of the male specimen, but I'm definitely in the top ten in the known world. I have this irresistible accent. Not to mention I've got the whole brooding bad boy thing down pat. And my eyeliner is on point. So what do you say?"

"Mmhmm, that's nice."

"So that's a yes?"

"Yes to what?"

"A nice roll in the hay." He winks.

"I'm flattered, but no thank you." She pushes her short hair out of her face as the wind tousles it. "Sorry, looks like I've got to get Regina to fix my hair again." And then she makes her graceful exit by basically limping as fast as she can to the captain's quarters and slamming the door behind her.

Regina looks up from the shirt she's mending as Emma slides to the floor. "Another quick escape from Hook's overtures?"

She sighs. "He won't get the hint even though I've been pretty clear. I don't know how I'm going to endure another three weeks of this."

Regina sniffs. "What a repugnant lecher. He made a pass at me the first night after we left Tyrosh. I know living on the sea must make one thirsty, but have some standards, Emma. Literally anyone else would be better than the Handless Wonder."

"You don't need to worry, I'm not interested." She bangs her head against the door, but opens an eye to stare appraisingly at Regina. "Did you mean you too when you said anyone else?"

"Obviously. But I'm afraid I'm way out of your league."

She topples onto the mattress, propping her chin in her hands and kicking her feet up, watching Regina sew. "Are you sure I can't change your mind? I can be very persuasive when I want to be." She catches Regina's eye and winks, but ends up mostly squinting and grimacing instead.

She gets a grudging half-smile for her trouble. "I highly doubt that, Ms. Swan. You're cute, though. I'll give you that."

"I'll take it."

"How's your foot? I'll change the bandage."

"It's fiiine," Emma whines. "The kraken even said so."

"Excuse me if I don't think a cephalopod has the same knowledge of general human healing that I do. Show me your foot."

She sighs but tilts onto her back anyway, lifting her stump. Regina tuts and fusses over her, carefully rubbing a salve over the exposed flesh before wrapping a clean cloth around it.

"So what's the prognosis, septa? Will I live?" She throws an arm over her eyes in true martyr fashion, but ruins the effect by peeking.

"I'm not sure, my lady. We might have to amputate your whole calf. You could get a peg leg then and really run with the pirate theme."

"You do know how to cheer a girl up. I already look ridiculous tottering all over the place, I don't think a peg leg would help."

"Maybe a kiss will help instead." Before Emma's fully processed her words, she leans in and pecks her cheek. With a final parting smirk, she dons the shirt over her chemise and leaves.

"Hey! I think that one was faulty. I need another one!" she calls after her.

The next week, Regina's bedridden with severe menstrual cramps. Emma elects to stay in bed with her as she likes her company better than being hounded by Killian above deck.

"Drink some more water," Emma wheedles. "I'll help."

"Yeah, but I'd rather stay here and moan in pain than get up every ten minutes to pee."

"And you accuse me of wallowing."

Regina merely grunts in response, squishing her face into the pillow. Emma leans over her to grab the pitcher, but Regina pushes it out of her reach without getting up.

"Come on," Emma says.

"No." There's even a hint of a pout.

She sighs and starts to return to her side of the bed, but Regina puts a hand on her shoulder, pressing her closer. "Don't move," she mumbles. "The heat feels good."

Emma manages for maybe six minutes before she starts to fidget. "Can I lay down? My arms are getting tired."

"Fine. If you have to."

She lays her head on Regina's abdomen and curls up her legs so they're not hanging off the side of the bed. "Is this okay?"

Regina hums.

"Sleepy?"

"No, but this is nice. Not having to do anything, just a lazy day on our way to usurp a kingdom." She bends so that half her face is still hidden by the pillow, but she's got one eye open to peer down at Emma. 

"I still can't believe you didn't run for the hills when stopped and let everyone else off. You're not obligated to do anything for me, you know."

"I know. I'm not. This is for my own self interest. I don't care about you," she says as she brushes Emma's hair away from her eyes.

"Okay."

Later in the week, Emma, Regina, the other Pirate Lords, Hook, and his first mate Smee are discussing how best to breach King's Landing's port without getting hemmed in by reinforcements when Hook makes a lewd remark about "jabbing her with his sword". Emma scowls but ignores him. They manage another half hour in a civil manner before he makes an offhand comment about her pushing people away so that's why she'll always be an orphan.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but this meeting is adjourned." She strides out onto the deck to collect herself before she does something she'll regret. Unfortunately, Killian follows her.

"Come on, love, you know it's only a matter of time before you're mine."

"I don't know how you came up with that notion, but I certainly don't belong to anyone, much less you." She stares out at open water, gripping the railing hard and trying to force her fury down.

"You're wrong. You were a common slave when we met. You were nothing, a nobody. Without me, you'd still be cracking open snail shells for the rest of your life. I freed you, I brought you before the Lords, my ship and crew are at your beck and call so you can go on your silly little quest. I've put my whole life on hold for you. You owe me." He has the audacity to catch her wrist in his hook.

She wretches her arm out of his grip. Her wrath rises like a flood, licking at her lungs. She turns on him and enunciates every syllable slowly and distinctly. "I owe you nothing. I didn't ask you for your service, you offered. And if I'd known you wanted me in return, I'd happily smash snails for the rest of eternity. Your memory seems selective, Jones, so let me remind you one last time. I am a woman, I have agency, and I said no."

"Don't be like that, Swan."

She has had enough. "Do you know why I was given the name Swan?"

Behind her, Regina crosses her arms. "Not this again."

Emma ignores her. "Because I may look gentle, but if you anger me, I am a force to be reckoned with."

He reaches out again in what seems to be placating gesture. "A mere woman?"

She grabs the lapels of his coat, drops to her back, and kicks him off the side of the ship in one fell swoop, although she misjudges and he bangs his head against the railing before he goes over. There's a heavy and immensely satisfying spattering as he hits the water, following by frenzied splashing. "Haul me up! I can't swim!"

"Despite his words, he might survive," Regina murmurs to her, staring down at the flailing figure. "Better to be ruthless and cautious than merciful and regret it afterwards, especially considering the unlikely odds of pulling this feat off as it is."

The kraken, never too far away from Emma these days, winds an arm around Hook's leg and cheerfully pulls him down under the water. His screams are sharply cut off.

"Mr. Smee!" she barks. "Seeing as how the former captain of this vessel is now indisposed, you're now in charge. Are there any objections?" The crew is agitated but silent. The Pirate Lords say nothing. "Sail on!"

From then on, there's a marked change. At mealtimes, the crew is quiet when she makes an appearance. Captain Smee is always courteous to her, but he's on edge and doesn't seem very pleased about being promoted. He doesn't have the same charisma that Hook had either. The crew takes their time when he orders an adjustment to the rigging, and only does so after he screams threats to set fire to all the rum.

"I think they might threaten to mutiny if the kraken wasn't a threat," she says one night to Regina.

"Good thing there's only two weeks left of this godforsaken journey. Then they can go raid and loot to their heart's content and then go back to being pirates."

"Doesn't leave me much of a standing army in case another house decines to attack, does it?"

"Are you planning on taking the Iron Throne?"

"I think I'll have to. What else can I do? I can hardly kill Abigail and then disappear into the night."

"Can't you? Take some gold, start over. Farm. Become a pirate yourself. Go back to Essos. What do you want to do?"

"I don't know. It sounds stupid but being a noble is all I really envisioned myself doing. But that's out of the question."

"Being queen isn't so different."

Emma chuckles. "That's if I can hold onto the throne with no alliances, no knights, no weapons."

"If you can get the Kingsguard to swear fealty to you, maybe the rest will just fall into place."

"That's a big maybe."

"You're spending too much time agonizing over this."

"Am I not supposed to worry over planning an invasion?"

"Yes, but let's forget about that for now."

"How?"

They're facing each other again, their bodies a hand's breadth apart. Regina tilts toward her and brushes her lips against the corner of her mouth. "You asked me for another kiss before. Is this okay?"

"It'll take more than that to make me forget."

Regina snickers. "Greedy."

"You have no idea."

They spend languid minutes kissing, their tongues moving against each other’s, grazing their fingertips against skin. It’s slow and gentle and sweetly timid, despite their suggestive words. Regina skims her mouth from Emma’s to up along her jaw.

“I’ve... _ ohhh _ , I’ve never done this before…” Emma’s voice trails off as she squirms under Regina’s hands.

“Never?”

“You distracted me. I’ve never…” she hums. “With a woman.”

Regina chuckles against her ear. It makes her curl the toes of her one foot. “You’re in for quite a delight, Ms. Swan.”

“Cocky,” she murmurs.

“Don’t need one to make you feel good.” She sits up and sheds her blouse in one fluid movement, tossing it to the side. Emma runs her fingers reverently up the scorching skin of her back. “Are you...are you sure?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“You’ve got a lot to deliver on.”

“Oh, I intend on surpassing all your expectations.” She gathers her hair to the side before she leans down to suck at the tendons of her neck as her hips roll against her. Emma’s fingers dig into the covers, fisting them as she throws her head back. The telltale burn is starting to build in her abdomen. She fumbles at the buttons of her shirt, feeling overheated. Regina helps her struggle out of the sleeves, taking a moment to rest her forehead against her bare chest and chuckle.

“What are you laughing about? I’m fairly certain getting undressed is a normal part of sex.”

“It is,” she says, lifting her head to give her a soft kiss. “You’re just very cute.”

Emma pouts. “Not irresistibly sexy?”

“No, but I can be persuaded.”

She brushes her hands down Regina’s back to rest at the seam of her leather pants. Regina raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to take those off? You spend an absurd amount of time staring at them.”

“That’s your fault.”

“Hmm?”

“For having an incredible ass.” She tugs at them, undulating under her.

Regina gasps and then grins at her as the pants slide off. “Very good, Ms. Swan.” She rises briefly to kick them away. Emma lets out a shuddering breath as she settles back, her sodden center pressed against exposed skin. The burn has become a blaze, radiating out to her fingers and toes, sweat beading at the nape of her neck. She wriggles, trying to ease the frustration by rubbing her thighs together, but it doesn’t help, especially as Regina sucks on a breast.

“Touch me,” Emma whines.

“I am.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Patience, dear. Teasing is half the fun.”

She growls, arching her back. “Pants off.” She shimmies, jerking them down without completely unseating Regina.

She helps by pulling the legs the rest of the way off. “Normally I wouldn’t complain about tight leather but this is unreasonably inconvenient,” Regina grumbles, dropping them off the side of the bed with an expression of distaste.

Emma props herself up on her elbows, kissing her shoulder. “Enough to ruin the mood?”

She loops her arms around the base of Emma’s waist. “I can hardly say no now that I’ve finally gotten you naked.” Her legs clench and her core contracts, making her shudder. Regina smirks as she lets a whimper slip. She nudges her to lie back and spreads her thighs, hovering over her.

“Wait.” Emma licks her lips. Regina pauses and looks up at her, concern evident even in the faint moonlight. “I want this, I want you. But you can stop whenever you want to. I don’t want to force you into anything. I mean, I’ll be disappointed but I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Oh, Emma.” Her tone is fond but tinged with exasperation. “I want to watch you fall apart because of me.” Her fingers drift from her hip down to her wiry curls, caressing her clitoris with the faintest of touches.

She jerks. “More,” she breathes.

For once, Regina has no snappy retort. She simply obliges, stroking her with long, steady movements. Emma gasps as a finger slides into her entrance with ease. She arcs into Regina’s touch as she pushes down on her hips. They settle into a rhythm, building intensity and speed until her finger curls suddenly inside her, scratching against a spot that makes her seize up, her body going rigid. For a moment, she feels weightless, suspended in dazed pleasure, before she comes back to her senses, the soles of her feet buzzing pleasantly.

“Oh,” she sighs, panting slightly. 

Regina leans back, looking entirely too smug. “So how’d I do?”

“I thought you were going to raise the bar, but you smashed it to pieces. I’ll have to up my game.”

“You can try, Ms. Swan.”

Later, as Regina is crying out and shaking around her tongue, Emma muses that she’s someone she wouldn’t mind kneeling to, even if she were queen.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me, there's a lot of exposition in this chapter.

Despite the crew's insubordinate attitude, they make it to the mouth of Blackwater Bay, which leads into King's Landing, with no trouble. There's a mild storm that pushes them half a day behind schedule, which turns out to be a blessing since they can sneak through the Gullet under the cover of night. From here, they have three and a half more days until the onslaught begins. From now on out, they sail nonstop, and in their free time, the sailors pray fervently or sharpen their weapons.

Emma feels useless. Although she's spearheading the attack, she has no knowledge of armaments or fighting, except for that one time she murdered her slaver. She imagines a full-out battle is different than bashing someone's head in unawares.

"If it makes you feel any better, neither do I," Regina mumbles, stretching in the dim morning light. Emma watches the way the skin pulls against her ribs as she inhales and then yawns like a lion.

"Are you not staying here on the ship?"

"Absolutely not. As your official fake handmaiden, I'm coming with you."

"But Regina..."

"Save it. What's the point of running off to join pirates if you don't run headlong into danger every once in awhile?"

"I don't like how blasé you're being about your life." Her mouth tightens.

"Be careful, Ms. Swan. Someone might think you even care."

She scowls, but before she can reply, there's a rapping at the door. Regina wriggles into Emma's frilly tunic and opens the door to Captain Smee. Seeing that Emma is obviously very naked in bed, he addresses the ceiling. "The Lords would like to finalize the plans before this afternoon, your Majesty."

"Thank you, Captain." He nods and turns sharply, the back of his neck crimson.

She slinks out of bed and wraps her arms around Regina from behind, kissing an exposed shoulder. "Do you think we traumatized him?"

Regina hums, leaning her head to the side so Emma can nuzzle the skin of her throat. "Probably."

"We still have some time before noon proper..." Her fingers skim the hem of the shirt where it falls against Regina's thighs.

"Best not waste any of it then."

...

Now that everything's coming to fruition, she should be raring to go, but mostly she wants to vomit. She doesn't know what's wrong with her. The rage that's been egging her on is simmering under her skin, but it's nowhere near enough to go charging into a city at night and start killing people left and right. She paces, slapping her cheeks a few times in an attempt to fortify herself.

"Need any help with that?" Regina drifts into the room, clad all in black.

"No, but you could ease my mind by staying behind."

"No chance of that, dear."

"You're not even wearing any armor!"

"Neither are you."

"Yeah, but at least I've got these." She twirls the two hand axes the Ironborn gifted her with around her wrists. It looks cool, but it's really the only thing she knows how to do with them. They'd reassured her it was just like cracking skulls, but she's still not confident in her ability to wield them.

"Okay, so I'll borrow a spear or a dirk from someone. It can't be that hard, right? All you have to do is stick them with the pointy end." She grins, but it seems forced.

"Are you okay?"

"I..." For a moment, it seems like Regina's about to tell her something important, but then she shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

Emma puts the axes down, taking her hand between hers and kisses her knuckles. "We might all die slow, agonizing deaths. Now would be the time to profess your undying love for me."

But instead of bringing levity to the situation, Regina makes a strange choking sound and wraps her up in a tentative embrace. She brushes her lips behind Emma's jaw, right under her ear, which she knows makes her shiver every time. "Try not to get yourself killed, you idiot."

"You too, my lady."

The night is cloudy but the moon is bright and full behind them. She would prefer total darkness, but there's nothing that can be done about that now. The large ships are moored a ways out from shore, to prevent any enemy ships from catching them unawares. Archers crouch in the shadows of the masts armed with wildfire to take down stragglers that might make it past the kraken lurking in the bay. Long, narrow pirogues are lowered into the water, ready to row the rest of the way.

When they hit sand, Emma motions for a small company of men to stay and guard the harbor. No use in outright destroying the Royal Fleet anchored here if this outrageous coup actually works. They all have orders to shoot anyone who sees them on sight, no matter if it’s an innocent peasant or noble.

They creep into the shadow of the city wall, watching the small figures of the city watch above stroll back and forth. When there's a decent opening, the pirates throw up grappling hooks that snag into place. Emma holds her breath, but that doesn't seem to have alerted anyone to their presence. They begin to climb. Their only chance to is to catch the guards unawares, open the portcullis, and storm the castle before too many people catch on. The first few of the watch have their throats slit silently, but the alarm is raised before the gate can be opened. Emma curses, and cuts down the guard who was responsible. She bellows and her ragtag band of soldiers takes up the call.

Somehow the portcullis is raised. A swarm of pirates flood in, bulldozing their way through the small squad of gold cloaks. They've lost some of their own as well but she can hardly believe they've made it this far. The pirates strip the guards of their belongings, tying up the ones that surrender. She directs two groups to the East and West barracks to hold off reinforcements as long as they can. The rest scurry with her to the great gate of the Red Keep.

There are stirrings of a defensive formation but they're nowhere near ready for Emma's onslaught. They force their way into the castle, slashing at the guards that pour out to meet them. Bodily fluids and various limbs are falling around Emma as she stumbles forward, but she hardly notices. Get to Abigail, get to Abigail, get to Abigail beats a tattoo on the inside of her head in time with her pounding blood.

Up this staircase, cut through any obstacles standing in her way, through this chamber, up another staircase. It feels almost like being home again, except she has an army of bloodthirsty pirates at her back. She loses them in a brawl as she fights her way to an overlooked statue. She tucks the axes into her belt and slides open the panel at its base, ducking into the hidden passage.

Abigail is screaming for the Kingsguard as she bursts out from behind a tapestry in her chambers, bloody and dusty and vengeful as hell.

"You!" she shrieks, brandishing a golden candelabra in her nightgown.

"Me." Her voice is icy and eerily calm. That's the only good part though. She had a rough idea of what she was going to say before she killed her, but it's all disappeared in the heat of the moment. "You killed my mother. And my father? Were you responsible for the jousting accident?"

Abigail glances at the doors, but there’s no telltale stomping of help coming. "He didn't give a rat's ass about me," she hisses. "I could've had everything as my father's heir, but I gave that up to be his trophy. And even then, he couldn't be bothered to give me that. I was nothing. Every time he touched me, he would whisper your mother's name. You can hardly fault me for wanting to be free and in control of my own body and actions again."

Emma staggers. There's an odd sense of déjà vu that clouds her mind, but she shakes it off. "That doesn't make it right."

Abigail laughs shrilly. "What do you know about right and wrong? You've led killers and rapists right into your home as your friends in arms. And you’re here to finish me off. Two wrongs don’t make a right."

The Kingsguard kicks open the doors, filing in to surround them, their swords drawn. Grumpy gasps when he notices Emma. "You're alive?"

"In the flesh. Now stand aside, old friend, this is my right."

The knights shift uneasily, glancing at each other.

"Don't just stand there! Kill her!" Abigail yells, stabbing the candelabra at her. "You're sworn to me!"

Sleepy sheathes his weapon and backs away to lean against the wall, possibly to nod off. Happy lowers his sword and goes to join his brother.

"Traitors! When this is over, I'll have you all strung up and—" But Emma cuts her off by throwing an ax. She drops the candelabra with a screech, clutching her bloody hand to her chest. She limps forward as Abigail cowers against the massive four-poster bed. "You have no idea what you're about to do. I can give you whatever you want. My father makes gold!"

"I want my parents back," she whispers as she embeds her remaining ax in her stepmother's neck.

It doesn't feel as good as she thought it would, all those months ago, dreaming of revenge. But it does soothe the anguish and fury in her chest somewhat. She retrieves her axes and slides them into her belt.

"Grumpy, I need you to display her body over the battlements. Sneezy, go up and ring the bell over the sept. Announce the queen is dead. Sleepy and Happy, with me down to the Great Hall. The rest of you stop any fighting you come across, preferably without any further bloodshed."

As she climbs up to the Iron Throne, she realizes that she's got a nasty cut in her thigh and another on her shoulder and she's lost two of her fingertips. She wonders what sort of quip Regina would make about that. Probably something about her losing her magic touch. There's the start of a smirk tugging at her mouth when she sits down.

And lays eyes on Regina standing before the throne, just as bloody and dirty as she is, holding her borrowed dirk with a white-fingered grip and looking stricken.

"We did it." She smiles, but Regina doesn't return it. She keeps swallowing and parting her lips, but she doesn't utter a word. "Regina?"

"I...Emma, I..."

There's a long silence as they regard one another.

"If you won't do it, I will," another voice snarls.

Emma jerks and looks up. "Who’re you? Where's Sleepy and Happy?"

"Living up to their names, both delirious and comatose at their posts." A severe woman with dark hair and a dangerous red-painted mouth strides up to Regina and seizes the blade, but Regina won't relinquish her grip. "No Mother, I..."

Mother? It's not hard to see. They look like mother and daughter. The sharp sting of betrayal accompanies the slow creep of dread in her veins as she realizes what's happening.

The woman scoffs. "Come now, Regina, don't tell me you can't do it."

Regina doesn't respond.

"Why ever not? You're not squeamish about killing. I saw you running half a dozen men through just now. Is it her? What's so special about her? She's like any other blond bastard across Westeros. You can have fifty of them when you're queen if you want."

Regina suppresses a gagging, gasping noise.

There's a pause.

"Oh no. Don't tell me you care for her?"

"Mother, please," she whispers, her eyes soft and wet. "Please."

"Oh my dearest. No no no. What have I always told you about love?"

"Whoa, hey," Emma interjects, waving her hands. "That's quite a jump between caring for someone and love, don't you think?"

Regina takes a moment to glare at her until she shuts up.

"Love is weakness," the woman croons, wiping Regina's tears away before she grabs the dagger and leaps forward to stab Emma. She barely has time to raise an ax to deflect, flinching away, Regina’s shout of panic ringing in her ears, when Doc rushes into the chamber.

"Your Majesty, news from Winterfell! Rumplestiltskin is heading south with an army, bringing winter and laying waste to everything."

Regina's mother lowers the knife, something like raw fear in her eyes. "It seems like fortune favors you today. We'll need your aid in keeping Rumplestiltskin's forces from overrunning King's Landing."

"Excuse me? You just tried to kill me. I don't know who you think you are, but there's no way I'm helping you with anything."

She purses her mouth. Emma definitely sees the resemblance. "I don't see what you see in her, Regina. She's frightfully dim."

"She grows on you," Regina mumbles to the floor. "Like mold."

"Hey!"

"Your quibbling is adorable. Sickeningly so."

They both flush at this.

"But enough of that, let me enlighten you to the mortal peril we find ourselves in. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cora, of House Pyrrhost, and you two have met."

"Pyrrhost?" Emma stares at Regina, but she won't meet her gaze. "You're a member of one of the Seven Great Houses of Westeros and you never thought to mention that?"

She shrugs, scuffing the floor with a boot. "You didn't tell me you were the heir of House Caprinox either."

Emma sags, but straightens immediately when something pointy sticks her in the back. Right, Iron Throne. "How long have you known?"

Cora titters. Emma wants to throttle her. "My dear girl, this whole affair was concocted around you fleeing the city."

"So did you have anything to do with my father's death?"

"No, that was all your stepmother's doing, but in the resulting shift of power, why not throw in a bid for Regina's ascension as well? Abigail was weak and flighty, hardly someone who could hold on to a kingdom of this size and power. But to ensure Regina could rise unimpeded to the Iron Throne, I needed to eliminate all her rivals. James was bound to succumb to poison sooner or later, the way that man drank. And I knew you'd want the pleasure of handling the queen yourself. That left only you. I knew you were somewhere in Tyrosh. Don't look so surprised. Despite what you might think, your family has never been hard to read. And your mother was a dreadful gossip. Pay the right people to listen in and you'd be astounded by what you learn. I didn't expect to find you as a slave, although that did make maneuvering Regina into place easier."

"You sold off your own daughter?"

"Temporarily," she trills, flapping a hand dismissively. "There were greater powers at work. And then all I had to do was wait until you disposed of Abigail and then Regina would be in place to strike." She glowers. "Of course, being seduced wasn't part of it."

"You and me both, lady," she grouches, rubbing a hand over her face. "Okay, so why not murder me and be done with it like you were so intent on before? What's this great danger that Rumplestiltskin poses? I thought he ran off beyond the Wall to live with the wildlings or find the children of the forest, I don't remember."

"What do you know of him?"

"His father was Malcolm the Mad, of the Sideris dynasty. But then my father rose up, backed by the people, and took the Iron Throne." She scrunches up her face, trying to recall history lessons she never took very seriously. "His son, Baelfire was killed in the struggle, and then he went insane with grief and vowed to destroy the Seven Kingdoms and left. No one's heard from him since."

"More or less true. I've tried my best to keep my eye on him these past few decades though and it seems that he's wrangled command of a number of white walkers, and with them a legion of their undead. And if your knight was telling the truth, they've already broken past the Wall and are planning on plunging us into eternal winter."

"Oh." Emma blinks. "That is bad."

"Yes, to put it lightly."

"So what do we do?"

"I have magic, but I fear Rumplestiltskin's skill far surpasses my own. And I’ve the backing of the houses of the Reach. You have what's left of your forces and hopefully, the undivided support of your own houses now that James is dead. We'll have to send out ravens to the other unaffected regions warning them of what's to come. With any luck, they'll join us and we may have a possibility of pushing him back."

"Okay. Okay. Doc, did you get all of that?"

"Yes, your Majesty. I'll go wake the Grand Maester."

"Thank you."

There’s an awkward silence before Emma stands and steps down from the throne. “I’ll go round up the remaining pirates.” She shuffles around Regina to leave the Great Hall. “Oh hey, Lady Cora, would you mind waking up Sleepy and Happy? I’ll need their help.”

Cora flicks a hand. There’s the dull clanging of armored knights getting to their feet outside the doors. When Emma leaves, she turns to her daughter. “You’ve got to get over this silly infatuation. It’ll only distract you from what’s important.”

“Yes, Mother.”

…

Despite the advance notice, their slapdash defenses are caught unawares by the white walkers. They’re waiting on battalions from Dorne and the Stormlands when a blizzard comes out of nowhere. Emma’s very bones ache with weariness. Amid the bickering with rival factions, messages that the Vale and the Riverlands have been annihilated, she’s also been avoiding Regina. It’s been pretty easy, actually, considering that Cora’s taken over everything Regina might have a say in. But that doesn’t help Emma fall asleep at night, wondering what was real and what were pretty words that she wanted to hear. She burrows into her furs, keeping her head down as she limps back inside.

“They’re here,” she announces flatly to the room. The various lords and knights stop their whirl of activity.

“We’re not ready! We’re waiting on reinforcements from the south,” someone protests.

“That isn’t going to stop him. Listen, we’re the last best chance between him and the rest of Westeros. If we can hold him back for long enough, the rest of our army might even be able to reach us in time. I know that there’s a lot of fear regarding the Others, but bravery is when we are willing to fight against terror. Be brave, men, we are fighting not for our lives, but our entire way of living.”

It’s not the best speech, but their faces are grim and determined as they ready themselves for war.

Nearby, Grumpy grunts to her. “You think we can do it?”

Emma snorts. “No way in hell.”

They never had a chance. Rumplestiltskin breaks through their barriers with ease, leading several dozen Others on bear corpses, giant ice spiders skittering in their wake. Behind them is a legion of shambling undead, their bodies warped and blackened, their eyes so bright they even cut through the churning snow. They blast powder kegs, try what’s left of the wildfire, but nonetheless, he crushes their forces, killing them in wide swaths and reanimating them to attack their friends.

As the battle is drawing to a close, Emma finds herself huddling with Regina of all people in a corner, as they wave blades threateningly at anyone who gets too close. Regina bites her lip suddenly and says, “Emma, I wanted to let you know that I’m sorry. I did intend on killing you at first, but being free of my mother for the first time was so wondrous and you are more charming than I give you credit for, and what I’m trying to say is that somewhere along the way I did fall for you. And I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I never meant to hurt you.” Her breath solidifies, sprinkling the ground with ice.

“Yeah okay, since we’re gonna freeze to death, I guess we might as well do this now. Yes, you hurt me badly and I’m nowhere near ready to forgive you. But I also care about you, I might even love you, so I don’t know, do with that what you will. We’re also fighting for our lives right now, so I don’t know how important feelings are here.”

Regina half-smiles, a small tentative motion that makes her dry lips crack and bleed. Affection blooms in Emma’s chest. “Yeah, me too.”

They die holding each other, but they’re only separated for a bit. The Others scour the battleground, reanimating bodies that are not too hacked up. One gives the both of them the touch of life and they rise again, stumbling together to conquer their allies in the south. Winter and darkness descend on Westeros for the next thousand years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh, so I set out to write Emma taking names and kicking ass, and somehow ended up with a zombie love story. I await your rotten tomatoes in the comments below.

**Author's Note:**

> The Seven Great Houses of Westeros
> 
> 1\. House Sideris  
> Members: Malcolm, Rumplestiltskin, Baelfire  
> Sigil: a golden crescent moon with two stars to its right, on navy  
> Motto: We Forge Our Own Way
> 
> 2\. House Caprinox  
> Members: James, David, Emma  
> Sigil: a black ram's head, lowered and ready to charge, on yellow  
> Motto: The Righteous Prevail
> 
> 3\. House Aurelith  
> Members: Midas, Abigail  
> Sigil: a golden hand, palm out, on black  
> Motto: Commerce is Key
> 
> 4\. House Pyrrhost  
> Members: Cora, Regina  
> Sigil: a yellow phoenix on orange flames  
> Motto: Rise Above
> 
> 5\. House Lycium  
> Members: Phillip, Aurora  
> Sigil: a violet thistle, on red  
> Motto: Beauty and Thorns
> 
> 6\. House Otarem  
> Members: Ariel, Eric  
> Sigil: a bronze otter, on blue  
> Motto: Chase the Horizon
> 
> 7\. House Eliomant  
> Members: Thomas, Cinderella  
> Sigil: a silver dormouse, on green  
> Motto: Be Watchful


End file.
